“Just askin’, Duchess, seein’ as we have to park a ways away.”
“I’ll be fine.”
We parked in town though I didn’t know if it was “a ways away” from where we were going. However when he parked, he parked with the passenger side by an enormous pile of snow that had obviously been created by removing it from the roads. And he parked so close I couldn’t open my door.
I looked out the window at the mound of snow then back at Max.
“I don’t think I can open my door.”
He didn’t answer at first. He just opened his door and got out.
Then he leaned in, reached an arm toward me and said, “Crawl over.”
“Crawl over?”
“Crawl over the seat.”
“Are you serious?” I asked.
“Do I look like I’m jokin’?” he asked back and the answer was no, he didn’t look like he was joking.
I apparently had two choices. Sit in the Cherokee while he had a burger or crawl over the driver’s seat.
That was really only one choice so I expelled a heavy sigh, unbuckled my belt, hitched my purse up my shoulder and started to crawl over.
I barely had a hand in the seat when his hands went under my armpits and he hauled me bodily across the cab. Automatically I reached out to clutch his shoulders and one of his hands went out of my pit and around my waist, the other one went around my upper back and he pulled me to his body. Then, sliding me down his body, he set me on my feet in front of him. Right in front of him. Full frontal in front of him.
When he didn’t immediately let me go, I tipped my head back and told him, “I think I made it.”
“You smell good,” he said in return.
“I’m sorry?”
“You smell good,” he repeated.
I pushed back against his arms but they didn’t budge.
“Max –”
“You call him?”
I blinked at the same time I shook my head, confused. “Sorry?”
“Your man, you call him?”
Something strange shifted inside of me. I didn’t know what it was but I knew I wasn’t going to explore that either.
“Yes.”
“You tell him you were sick?”
“Yes.”
“What’d he have to say?”
My hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, I put light pressure there but said softly, “Max, I’m not sure that’s any of your business.”
“Yeah,” he said softly back, “that’s what I figured he’d have to say.”
“What?” I asked, back to confused but he let my waist go, put a hand to my belly and pushed me back several feet. Then he closed the door, beeped the locks, grabbed my hand and started walking fast with wide, long strides. “Max…” I called but stopped speaking.
We hit the boarded sidewalk and he answered, “Yeah?”
I decided to let it go so I replied, “Nothing.”
We walked fast, side by side, hand in hand. I let the hand in hand thing go too. He was often a jerk but he had nursed me back to health and, anyway, his hand was big, it was strong, it was warm and the night was cold.
I saw ahead of us that there were people hanging outside a door looking like they were waiting to be let in. When we passed the windows I saw it was a restaurant, rough looking but also welcoming. And packed.
Max opened the door the people were standing around, pushed me through using his hand in mine and kept the contact as we went to the hostess station.
The hostess wore no makeup, a t-shirt that announced she was a fan of the Grateful Dead and she had a mop of coppery curls pulled up in a mess on top of her head.
She also had on a pair of unusual, huge, silver hoop earrings, the silver hoop a wide, curled, web. They were stunning.
She looked up, her face brightened immediately when she saw Max and she shouted, “Max!”
“Hey Sarah,” Max returned.
Her eyes came to me, she did a body sweep and her face closed down, just a little bit but it did it and I thought that was strange.
Max stopped us in front of her and didn’t let go of my hand.
“Got a table?”
“Yep,” she said instantly and I looked into the packed restaurant. Then I looked behind us. Then beside us. All the open space and outside was filled with people standing waiting for tables.
I also noticed they were kind of dressed like me, except different, slightly more casual. But they were obviously tourists on vacation wearing vacation clothes, not locals.
Locals, evidently, didn’t have to wait for tables.
She grabbed some stuff from under the hostess station, turned and walked into the restaurant. Max tugged my hand and we followed her. She took us to the far, back corner where there was an empty booth that a busboy was still wiping down. He scurried off with a smile and a, “Hey Max,” before he passed.
She slapped down white paper placemats, utensils wrapped in napkins and a plastic bucket filled with crayons.
Then she turned to Max and asked, “Usual?”
“Yeah,” he replied, using my hand to position me toward the side of the booth that had its back to the wall, facing the restaurant. “Two,” he concluded.
“Gotcha.”
“Wait,” I called when she started to move away.
“Yeah?” she asked, eyes on me.
“I like your earrings,” I told her. “They’re stunning.”
She looked surprised a second before she lifted the fingers of one hand to her ear and muttered, “Thanks.”
“Did you get them recently? I mean, is there somewhere I could buy a pair?”
She studied me for a moment before saying, “Yeah, down the street, I got ‘em a year ago but they carry ‘em all the time.”
“Thanks,” I smiled at her.
“Sarah, this is Nina,” Max told her and she nodded to me.
“Hey, Nina.”
“Hi.”
“It’s called Karma,” she told me.
“What?”
“The silver place. They got other good stuff too. Karma.”
“Karma. Thanks,” I said again.
“No probs,” she replied then turned and walked away.
Before I knew what was happening, Max maneuvered me into the booth before I could take off my coat or purse. And again before I knew what was happening, he sat down in my side.
“Max,” I said but he wasn’t listening, he was shrugging off his coat, his arm bumping into me twice as he did so. Then he threw it over the table to the opposite bench, turned to me and said, “Coat.”